


Days of the Week

by Lilbug121



Category: Don't Hug Me I'm Scared (Short Film)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I didn't check major character death because they come back to life like 2 hours after they die, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, and they just do it for fun anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilbug121/pseuds/Lilbug121
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Monday, you killed her. On Tuesday, she killed you. On Wednesday nobody died, and you had a very pleasant dinner together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days of the Week

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like it was weird that Tony had a name but Notebook didn't so...Paige. Yeah. Feel free to hate it.
> 
> It's not an obsession until you start writing fanfiction.

On Monday you had the pleasure of killing her, stabbing her through her stomach and watching as her blood pooled around her body a vibrant red before time cooled it to a rusty brown.

On Tuesday you had the pleasure of death at her hands, drowning in a bucket of blue paint as she held your head under.

On Wednesday you ate supper together and talked for hours about just how creative it was that different cultures had come up with their own calendars.

You waltzed together that night.

She will dance to almost anything; even things one does not traditionally dance to, she finds rhythm in the chaos or chooses to make her own, humming and singing and tapping on makeshift instruments. Your nature has lead you to prefer the dependence a dance like the waltz has on a constant and specific time signature. When she indulges you in this preference it feels magical; she creates order from chaos, and you chaos from order, and when your domains overlap as they do when you dance it is as if the universe itself is dying and reforming itself over and over (and perhaps it is; when you are together you doubt you would notice, enraptured as you are in her).

On Thursday you wake up to her strangling you with your own tie, and after you kick her off of you she is giggling like madness itself, and you too lend a subdued chuckle when your breath returns. She kisses your nose and wishes you a good morning, and indeed it is. Although you did not wake up in the way you expected, she was considerate enough to account for the time you generally woke up.

Neither of you could quite explain why you fell into a little game of murdering each other, when it leaves such a mess and doesn’t do much of anything but put you out of commission for an hour or two before you wake with a gasp and the dull ache of freshly healed organs. But there is something…exhilarating, about death. You had both only ever been on the giving end, and that was quite fun in its own right, but…there was always something missing from it. You both knew you could not die forever; in this world you were practically gods. And one day she just…killed you. That was how she proposed a relationship, actually. She slit your throat, and when you woke up you found a card in your pocket covered in glitter and macaroni, written in your own blood and asking you on a date. You felt lightheaded and dizzy, not entirely different from the feeling of providing torment but so much sweeter in its novelty (and possibly, you would later realize, because of who was behind it).

You responded in kind, shooting her in the back of the head and checking “yes” with her blood.

“Have I ever asked you why you like killing me so much?” she asks, and while the question comes from out of the blue such things are expected of her.

“Now dear, you know it’s not just you; although you will always be my favorite victim”.

“Awww! Well, you’re MY favorite too!” She responds, giving you a hug only marginally less tight than what would be considered sweetly murderous. “Anyways, I think I like it cause there’s just so many different _ways_ you can do it, you know? I’ve never killed you the same way twice!” she informs you proudly. “I mean, I imagine I’ll have to start repeating ideas eventually, but even then you can always put twists on them! And red is just _such_ a nice color, don’t you agree?”

“Yes my love, it is” you agree, playing with her hair. “I believe I enjoy the finality of it; nothing ever really ends, except life. Things change and move and grow into new forms, but a life is the only thing that one can truly mark the start and end of.”

“I though it was because it turns you on!” she giggles, and you frown at her inappropriateness. “Aw, c’mon Mister Grumpy Gears! Let’s go make breakfast!”. She pulls you out of bed as she says this, and you sigh, but follow her regardless.

On Friday you think you’ve got her, but as she lay dying in your arms and you flash a gloating smile, she grins broadly and stabs you in the chest.

“That’s…cheating” you grumble as you bleed onto her.

“I’m just… being creative” she replies, and although her voice is weak you can still hear her giggling lilt and victorious grin. You both cough out a laugh as the world grows grey and then black around the edges and everything slips away

You groan and roll over as you wake up; she isn’t dead anymore, but has yet to wake up. She will soon though, you can tell from her stirring. Your legs are still numb, and you lay next to her waiting for the blood flow to return. When she does rouse, just twenty seconds later, she complains that her arms and legs are asleep as well and you remind her that it’s her fault.

“Nu-uh!”

“I’m not playing this game with you.”

“Cause I’m right!”

“No; because it is puerile.”

“Is that a fancy way of saying ‘Tony is stupid’?”

“No, it is a fancy way of saying ‘Paige is a child’.”

“If I’m a child then you’re a creepy old man!” she answers, sticker her tongue out at you. Without thinking, you respond in kind.

“Ha! M’not the only child here!”

“Shut up.”

“Hmmmm….Nope!”

“I loath you.”

“Liar liar pants on fire!” she sings, and you sigh.

“Well I loath you right now.” you defend indignantly.

“I love you too honey!” You sigh and smile at her. She knows you can’t stay mad at her.

“I love you too dear”.


End file.
